


your hands dripped with honey, but I was a flame

by VesperRegina



Category: Galileo (TV Japan)
Genre: F/M, In Public, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperRegina/pseuds/VesperRegina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Were you dreaming?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	your hands dripped with honey, but I was a flame

**Author's Note:**

> Again, many thanks to my beta readers.

Kaoru opens her eyes to snow collecting on the narrow ledge formed between the outside of the car's window, and the side of the car. It's piled up on the side mirror, too, but she can still see herself, blinking confused and bleary eyes. She'd heard a voice, from far away. Her name. That's right, he's here with her. Yukawa. She was...

"Were you dreaming?"

She turns her head and winces at a twinge of overly-stretched muscle in her neck, a painful reminder that she went to sleep with her neck bent into an awkward position. She squints through sleep-laden eyes at his face, then rubs at her eyes, motions slow.

"Was I talking?" What had she been dreaming? She felt like she had been swaying, like she'd been on a ship... she looks at him again, eyes more clear.

He turns his attention away, answers, "A little."

"Oh. What did I say?"

"Nothing discernible."

She makes a low noise as response, not feeling like answering in full, raising her hand to her neck to rub at the ache. She looks out the window as she does so. It has not been snowing long. There is a bare dusting of snow on the ground outside, melting against the warmth there faster than on the car. She had been dreaming, and a memory of dark intent eyes resolves, lending clarity to her impressions.

She'd been dreaming of him. Of him in front of her on the subway train, a crush of people around them. Forced to stand, bodies close, jostling into each other with irregular frequency. She'd been pretending he didn't know her. She'd been dressed in one of those miniskirts she'd worn when undercover.

No one could see that he had his hand between her legs. No one could tell that he had two fingers curled inside her and his thumb was caressing the most sensitive spot of her. She was wet, so wet that it felt like it was sliding down her leg. She was biting her lower lip, looking up into his face with her eyes wide open. He was looking at nothing but her. She'd been so close, so close to the edge of --

She rests her head against the car window, and the chill seeps into her skin. Heat has bloomed between her breasts, creeping vine-like up into her cheeks and her pulse throbs heavy between her legs. Her skin prickles into gooseflesh, electric firing of her nerves like the points of needles pressed to her skin. She closes her eyes, falls into the memory of the dream, the joy and sensuality of it. She knows that, in the dream, they'd planned the assignation. She'd talked him into it.

His gaze on her had been avid and keen, but only she could see it. His mouth had been open, a moist sheen a faint line on the inside of his lower lip. She'd felt licked by flames, burning in a fire that came from one source.

She thumps her head against the window. Such a cheat, her dreams; her desires so illusory. She opens her eyes, and straightens up in her seat, rolling her shoulders back. She stretches her hands in front of her over the top curve of her steering wheel and arches her back.

"What were you dreaming?" There is nothing in his voice but idle curiosity, but she still snaps her hands back to herself, startled.

"I was on the subway," she answers. "You were with me." She closes her mouth, lips pressed into a prim line.

He turns his head to look at her, and she blinks, but doesn't look away, caught by memory. "Ah," he says, and takes that gaze of his off her. She licks the dryness off her lips and shifts in her seat, feeling slickness and warmth between her legs. She places her side and back into the wedge of the door and seat, turning to him. She dwells on his profile, following the lines of his nose, his lips, letting her gaze drift down to his neck, to the flat moles that speckle his skin, and is struck by a sharp pang low in her center -- the need very physical -- to touch the tip of her tongue to them, to hear the subtle gasp he'd make. She feels the warmth of that desire deep within her still, a coal aglow. She wants to follow the line of his jaw, to put her mouth against his, to coax it open with a stroke of her tongue in the groove of his lips, to taste the salt and softness of the inside of his mouth.

Her heart is beating wild in her chest when she takes his hand in hers instead, tangling her fingers up in his, her thumb tucked between, rubbing against his palm. He looks down at their hands and then up at her, a momentary lift to the side of his mouth his only acknowledgement. She scrapes her thumbnail against his skin. He tightens his grip. She smiles. That was dream, but this is reality. A pleasant warmth, a banked fire, ready for stirring, to set the sparks flying -- a promise of fulfillment.


End file.
